Sacred Star of Minos
by anonymous1stClass
Summary: Post-Brotherhood, Ed stops by Table City on his journey to the West, hoping to pay a visit to Julia Crichton. His first mistake was hailing an illiterate valley yokel to give him directions, and his second was having an argument in semantics in an attempt to understand what the guy was saying. "It was a truck driven by WHATS?"


A/N: I always wondered whether Ed visited Milos on his way through the West after the end of Brotherhood. I decided he did, but the visit was far shorter and far less eventful than anyone could have predicted. So without further ado, here's why.

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><p><strong>Sacred Star of Minos<strong>

**(Or something like that.)**

**(No one's really sure anymore.)**

The Valley of Milos. It had been a long time since he was here last. Ed stood on the train platform and stretched, relishing the feeling in _both_ his arms. And a lot had changed. Table City and the Valley were an independent country now, at least for however long that would last. He just hoped it was worth it to have to deal with the customs office to come here.

Nah, just the look on Julia Crichton's face would make the detour worth it when she found out that he and Al had done the impossible and gotten their bodies back. Well, most of their bodies, at any rate. He could still be with Julia in the one-legged ex-alchemist club. There was a lot of catching up to do.

It was too bad Al had gone East instead of coming along with him, Ed reflected as he left the station. He probably would've looked forward to seeing Julia again even more than Ed did. No, he thought, expression darkening. If he had to choose between Al hooking up with a Xingese princess or with a one-legged Milosian valley denizen...not that he of all people had anything against having only one leg, but at least a princess might bring enough money to get someone _else_ to fix the stupid roof. Anyway, it was a good thing Al didn't seem to mind too much that his life decisions were being not-so-subtly directed by his older brother.

Ed looked around the plaza and realized with a start that things really _had_ changed. _What comes of virtually blowing up an entire city, _he thought wryly. Things had to rebuild somehow. Anyway, it looked like he needed to ask for directions.

With no sense of foreboding whatsoever, he flagged down a likely-looking passerby, a middle-aged, roundish man in workman's clothes.

"Excuse me," he called, "do you know where a girl named Julia Crichton lives?" He had no clue how famous Julia was, and for a second he was afraid he would have to make a more involved inquiry. However, the man's plump face suddenly lit up with recollection.

"Sure, I 'member Julia. She was th' one who stopped that lava and saved the valley a few years back, all by herself, too. She sure was a tough one, she was."

_Oh, _Ed thought blackly. _So _that's_ the story she spread around. 'All by herself', huh?_

The man kept talking, failing to notice the foreboding expression on Ed's face. "Yeah, she was a good girl, even after she lost that leg o' hers. Lasted almost two months after that. Strong girl," he said, shaking his head sadly.

Ed's attention immediately snapped back to the man, a stricken expression on his face. "'Lasted two months'?! What happened to her? She didn't..."

"'Fraid so, son," the worker replied sympathetically. "The gangrene, they said. From contaminated screws," he finished ominously.

Ed's shock rapidly diffused into deep confusion. "Contaminated screws?"

"Yeah, in her 'auter-mail'. Even though Old Gonzales had picked those screws fresh out o' the trash-heap. Shame, too."

_Julia's dead? _Ed didn't want to believe it, but it looked as though he had no choice. _Just...dead?_ He cast about for some other friend, someone who hadn't... "Well...what about Old Man Gon? How is he?"

"Gon," the worker pronounced mournfully.

"Yeah, Gon. Old Man Gonzales, the automail engineer. Where's he living now?"

"No, son, _gon._"

Ed stared at the man askance. "What about him?"

The plump man waved his arms dramatically, as if that would make his words easier to understand. "He's _gon!_"

"Wait a sec, you don't mean _gone,_ do you?" Ed asked, suddenly worried. Had _everyone _he'd met either left town or died?

"Yeah, kid, that's what I've been _sayin'. _He's _gon._ Kilt dead. Food poisin'in, rumor has it. Something about mushrooms."

Ed stared at the man in openmouthed amazement, and suddenly wondered if he was being played for a sucker. Still, there was one more shot. "What about Julia's brother, Ashley?"

"Now _that's _a story," the worker proclaimed cheerfully, and Ed almost relaxed. Almost. "Right after Julia'd saved th' Valley he wanders off into Creta, see, but on the way he gets hit by a bunch o' Cretans an' dies."

"You don't mean _Cretans, _do you?" Ed asked skeptically, not entirely sure what he had just heard.

The man shook his head. "I mean what I say," he asserted.

"But you said Cretans. Like Minoans?"

"Naw, don't try an' pin such a dirty thing on no Milosians. They were cretins, I tell you!"

"Wait, _Cretans _or _cretins?_"

"All th' same to me, kid."

"But wait," Ed insisted, frustration growing. "Can't you just tell me exactly what happened?"

"Sure," the man drawled. "Crichton was hit by a bunch o' Cretan cretins. They weren't no Milosians or Minoans, neither. Just Cretans."

Ed stared at him in consternation, face scrunched up in confusion. "So...Greeks?" he ventured hesitantly.

"Naw! Cretan cretins from Creta hit Crichton, simple as that! Ain't you been listenin'?!"

Ed's suitcase was suddenly airborne, very nearly hitting the Milosian. His aim probably would have been better had he not been tearing his hair with both hands. He was never coming back to the Valley of Minos. Milos. WHATEVER! _Never_ again!

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><p>Ed discovered to his dismay (and continued rage) that his "conversation" had cost him just enough time to miss the train. He figured it would probably be easier just to walk to Creta (it was only just across the bridge anyway), so he wasted no more time in the hellish nation of Milos.<p>

On a barren stretch of dusty road, he suddenly came across a stone set by the roadside. Coming closer, he realized that it was a grave marker and paused to read it.

_Ashley Crichton. Hit by truck. Rest in peace._

Edward stood on the side of the road staring at the stone for a good five minutes before suddenly shaking a fist at the sky and shouting at the top of his lungs, "THAT WAS ALL I NEEDED TO KNOW, YOU _JERK!_"

He headed back to Resembool later that day. Maybe Alphonse would be having more luck in the East. These Westerners were just too much for Ed to deal with.

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><p>AN: I think the idea for this story sprang from a sudden realization that the Cretans from Creta had the same name as Cretans from Crete, and the remarkable similarity between "Milosian" and "Minoan".

The gangrene, food poisoning, and hit-and-run were products of a slightly morbid imagination trying to come up with "likely" ways these characters could have died (and thus been unable to have any interesting interactions with Ed).

The cretins were purely random.


End file.
